


All There Is To Tell

by Anteros



Category: Hornblower (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-03
Updated: 2011-12-09
Packaged: 2017-10-27 03:40:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,462
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/291233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anteros/pseuds/Anteros
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>POW fic.  Set after and before Hornblower and Kennedy return to Ferrol. Long, grim and really not very cheerful.</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> POW fic. Set after and before Hornblower and Kennedy return to Ferrol. Long, grim and really not very cheerful.

  


* * *

  
**I**

Kennedy had returned to El Ferrol with understandably mixed feelings. Surely he must have lost his senses entirely? To return voluntarily to prison to preserve the honour of a shipmate who had long since given him up for lost? Not that anyone appeared to notice his derangement. Far from it, Captain Pellew had commended him for his duty and honour, Hornblower had thanked him awkwardly for his loyalty and Don Massaredo had received them as highly esteemed guests. It was all very different from the last time Kennedy had returned to the fort, dragged behind a mounted guard, chained wrist and neck to the saddle and forced to run or be throttled. That had been his final attempt to escape. After that there had only been the pit.

But this time it was different. This time, the garrison turned out to meet them as they disembarked from the gig and formed a guard of honour to escort the bashful seamen to the fort. _Archie wondered idly which saddle he’d been chained to._ Shawled women lined the road and cast benedictions as they passed. _Last time they had crossed themselves and turned away._ Children skipped at their heels cheering and shouting “O inglés! Os mariñeiros Inglés están de volta!” _The same children that had spat at him and thrown rocks._ And Don Massaredo was waiting in the courtyard to receive them with all the dignity and ceremony his proud lineage could muster. _Archie still could not look at the Don._

So Lieutenant Hornblower and Mr Midshipman Kennedy were returned to their former cell, but this time the door remained unlocked, allowing them to enter and leave the cell courtyard and cloisters as they pleased. The Don received Hornblower’s parole with his customary nobility, and the newly minted lieutenant resumed his daily walks to the town and the beach. No such privileges were extended to Mr Midshipman Kennedy. Hornblower immediately offered to answer on his behalf but Kennedy rejected the offer with ill concealed disdain.

“No thank you Lieutenant Hornblower, I would not have you sell your word of honour to that Torquemada on my paltry account. Besides I’m sure it would not do for an officer of your standing to be seen about the town with the likes of me.”

Hornblower frowned and turned away with a look that Kennedy took to be contempt.

It was only later, alone in their cell, that he recognised the shadow that had darkened Hornblower’s eyes for what is really was; hurt and concern. Kennedy felt more alone than he had ever felt through all the long years of his captivity. He had not expected this. He had not expected to care.

Archie had expected to hate Hornblower, not for his career and his promotion, not even for striking the blow that had cast him adrift on the tide of war, but for his simple faith in the shining idols of duty and honour and for his stubborn refusal to give up on him. And there was no question that he expected Hornblower to despise him in turn for his cowardice, his weakness and his failure.

The very last thing Archie expected was the tentative resumption of the fleeting intimacy that had been severed so abruptly by Jack Simpson’s return and the fateful assault on the _Papillion_. But slowly, slowly, as the days passed and each grew more familiar with the others presence, the barricades constructed through years of loneliness, fear and despair started to crumble. At first it was little more than a hand that rested a little too comfortably on a thigh as they sat reading together of an afternoon, or fingers that strayed carelessly across the neck while tying a queue, almost a caress. One evening Archie woke to find his head pillowed in Hornblower’s lap, where he had fallen asleep listening to him read in halting Spanish. When he woke, Horatio had fallen silent and was gently running his long fingers over his forehead and through his hair. Archie lay motionless and revelled in the long forgotten feeling of contentment.

From there tentative touches turned to ever bolder caresses and the lightest brush of lips against cheek to deep hungry kisses. With every kiss, every caress, the walls and ramparts crumbled, until the barricades were breached and they allowed themselves to be overwhelmed by an irresistible torrent of need and want. It was a sweeter sentence by far than anything Archie had ever imagined to exist on this earth. They revelled in each other, in warm breath and hot skin and cool evenings when they simply lay side by side listening to the mingled rhythm of their breathing.

But for all the unexpected contentment they found in each other’s company there was a restless energy in Hornblower that could not be contained. Even with his daily parole Hornblower had chaffed against his confinement, fretting that the war, their lives, their careers, were passing them by. Naval laurels meant nothing to Kennedy, and besides, if he had learned anything from two years of captivity, it was to endure.

* * *

  
 **II**

“This is purgatory!” Hornblower was glaring at the rain sheeting down outside the cell window, turning the dun dust of the courtyard a startling vibrant orange. Kennedy sighed but didn’t look up from his book.

Hornblower had been confined to the small cell for four days and the strain was beginning to show in his restless pacing and the thin tight line of Kennedy’s mouth. Don Massaredo had been called away to a council in Madrid and had regretfully informed Mr Hornblower that his parole must be rescinded in his absence. The lieutenant was welcome to avail himself of the Don's library and could come and go as he pleased between his cell and the courtyard, however he was not to leave the fortress until the Don returned. Unfortunately it had rained continually and unrelentingly since Don Masseredo’s departure and Hornblower had found little pleasure and less release from walking around the courtyard in the rain. Walk he did though. Every afternoon for an hour he paced backwards and forwards across the courtyard, his already shabby uniform growing more bedraggled with each traverse. These morning perambulations amused both guards and men greatly but did little to improve Hornblower’s increasing ill humour. Even Archie’s patient ministrations couldn’t release the pent up tension coiling under his fingers as he ran his hands down Hornblower’s spine.

“Honestly, I never thought to find a place on God’s earth wetter than Spithead.” Hornblower was drumming his fingers against the bars of the cell window. “Does it always rain so much in this God forsaken hole?”

Kennedy sighed, “I really couldn’t say Horatio.”

“Archie, you’ve been here some time,” Hornblower persisted. Does it always rain so incessantly at this time of year?”

“I…I’m sorry Horatio, I really can’t recall.” Archie didn’t lift his eyes from his book, but he was no longer seeing the words. Hornblower continued to stare dolefully at the rain, oblivious to the shadow that had passed over Archie’s face leaving him pinched and grey.

Hornblower paced the length of the cell with slow deliberate steps before resuming his vigil by the window.

“Purgatory, ” he groaned.

“You said that yesterday.”

“Then I beg your pardon Mr Kennedy today this must be hell.” Hornblower retorted irritably.

“Honestly Horatio, you’re being a touch melodramatic, it’s just rain.”

“It's torture that's what it is!”

Archie closed his book with a loud snap. “Hell? Torture?” he hissed. “You know nothing. _Nothing._ ” He threw the book down and stormed from the cell slamming the door behind him.

* * *

  
 **III**

The rain continued to sheet down and the dejected ratings peering from their cell windows were surprised to observe Mr Kennedy patrolling the courtyard in place of Mr Hornblower.

Hornblower had been so absorbed in his own petty frustrations that Kennedy’s departure had taken him completely by surprise and he was initially at a loss to fathom his cellmate’s behaviour. He watched Kennedy pace the courtyard a few times before he disappeared from view, out of sight of the cell's small window.

An hour passed and Kennedy had not returned, by which time Hornblower had had ample time to reflect on the crass folly of his words. What selfishness had led him to speak of torture to a man who had endured over two years of incarceration? A man who had survived four weeks in the pit that had almost broken him after one?

Sickened by guilt and remorse Hornblower swallowed his pride and ventured out in search of his friend. He presumed to find him in the library; despite his disdain for the Don, Kennedy had been unable to restrain himself from yielding to the temptation of his books. But the library was empty, as were the other corners and alcoves where they occasionally sat to escape the harsh glare and stifling heat of the courtyard. Eventually by a process of elimination Horatio turned his attention to the courtyard, his heart sinking as he realised that Archie must have remained outside in the torrential rain for the past hour. He found him in the far corner of the courtyard, out of sight of the cell windows, sitting against the wall, knees tucked up to his chest, oblivious to the pelting rain and the ochre water pooling around him. Hornblower felt his stomach lurch as he crossed the courtyard in long quick strides. He crouched beside his cellmate and cautiously placed one hand on his shoulder.

"Archie," he said softly, "come inside, you're soaked through."

Kennedy remained motionless, head bent to his knees, his soaking hair plastered to the nape of his neck. If he had heard, he made no response.

"Archie," Hornblower tried again, carefully keeping any hint of command from his voice. "Come away, you’ll catch your death."

After what seemed like an age Kennedy lifted his head but his expression remained distant. Something twisted in Hornblower's gut. He had seen that expression all too often in the past, on countless fearful nights aboard _Justinian_ , on the dimly lit deck of the _Indefatigable_ before the cutting out expedition, on the wreck of the man he had found lying senseless in the cell they now shared. Archie had retreated beyond where Horatio could reach him.

Desperation getting the better of him, Hornblower seized Kennedy by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "Come on Archie. Inside. Now." To his great relief Archie rose and followed without protest.

Inside Archie stood dumb and dripping while Horatio quickly and unceremoniously stripped him of his clothes before drying him with a blanket. Horatio was dimly aware he was talking the whole time, meaningless nonsense, soft words of encouragement and chastisement, though whether the words were to comfort Archie or distract him from this own fear and guilt he could not say. Archie made no protest, but his eyes remained opaque and his limbs heavy.

Once he was reasonably dry Horatio wrapped him in another blanket and gently pushed him down onto the low bunk. He sat there for a moment blinking at the floor then he lay down and curled in on himself, face the wall. Horatio stood and stared helplessly at his thin back. He desperately wanted to climb into the bunk beside Archie and hold him close, use his own body to guard against whatever fearful memories were stalking at the edge of his consciousness. But to touch him, to lay one finger on him even, while he was so awfully absent would have felt like the worst betrayal of trust. Instead Horatio settled himself on the cold flagstones beside the bunk and watched Archie's silent form as the light faded and the rain continued to fall.  



	2. Chapter 2

Horatio jolted upright with a start, woken by some long dormant instinct. As a midshipman on _Justinian_ he had always struggled to rise for the watch bell but at the same time he found that the slightest sound from Archie would waken him instantly. The nightmare had just taken hold and Horatio was up and on the bunk in a flash, shaking Archie gently and calling his name. At first he shrank from his touch; his breathing was shallow and beads of sweat stood out on his forehead, clearly visible in the moonlight filtering through the bars of the cell. The rain had finally stopped leaving a bright clear night.

"Hush Archie, it's all right," Horatio reached out a reassuring hand but Archie knocked it away sharply and moving faster than Horatio would have believed possible, scrambled up until he was sitting crouched in the corner, back to the wall, eyes wide and unseeing with fear.

"Non! Recevez tes mains sur moi." His voice was cracked and hoarse.

Horatio hurriedly stepped back off the bunk, holding his hands up where Archie could see them. "It’s all right Archie, it’s just me, Horatio. There’s no one else here. It was a dream, just a dream."

Some of the tension seemed to ebb away from Archie as he gathered his scattered wits and took in the familiar stone walls of the cell. He dropped his head and released a long ragged breath. "No Horatio, it wasn’t just a dream."

 _This is your fault,_ a silent accusatory voice whispered in Horatio's ear. _It's all your fault. You struck the blow…._ Horatio ignored the familiar condemnation and focused his attention on Archie. Slowly and cautiously reaching out towards him, he placed one hand against his forehead.

"I think you have a fever Archie, lie down, you need to keep warm. Shall I…?” he gestured towards the bunk, still keeping his distance. “Do you want me to…? Just to lie..."

Archie shrugged non-committaly, but he settled down on his back leaving enough space for Horatio to climb onto the bunk beside him. They lay silently side by side, Horatio made no attempt to touch him or to hold him but he was close enough to feel the beat of Archie's heart slowing and steadying. After a time he propped himself up on one elbow and cautiously placed a hand on Archie’s shoulder, smoothing down the worn linen of his shirt.

"Tell me, Archie. Please." The question had tormented him for years.

"Tell you what?" Archie turned his head to look up at him.

"Tell me what happened, tell me where they took you, how you got here.”

“What purpose would it serve?” Archie curled his lip into a bitter sneer. “Am I to dredge it all up simply to satisfy your curiosity?”

“No, no, Archie! All these years I've wondered...I was so afraid to think what might have happened to you." That was only half of it. He made no mention of how he had tortured himself night after night after night, with the dreadful knowledge that he himself had struck the blow that had knocked Archie down and left him to his fate.

He swallowed hard, "I…I feared you were dead."

“Your fear would have been a blessing Horatio.” The sneer slid away, leaving Archie looking sad and weary. He lay perfectly still for what seemed like an age, gazing unseeing into the dim moonlight and then, unexpectedly, the words began to flow, haltingly at first and then in a low monotone quite unlike the light bright voice that had flittered through Horatio’s dreams for the last two years.

"They put me ashore further down the estuary from Blaye, not sure where. They took me to a cachot, put me in a cell and left me there. I had nothing, just the clothes I was standing in, they’d taken my pistol and my watch when they found me in the boat. I think I was sick, they beat me when they found me, I don't remember much about the first few days. Then the gens d'armes came, they said I was a spy and started asking me questions. Day after day, more and more questions. I couldn't answer them. I could barely remember how I'd got there. I had a fever and my head..."

Archie lifted his hand to his temple, a simple unconscious gesture that made Horatio's chest constrict with pain and guilt.

"The last thing I recalled was standing on the deck of the Indy, after that nothing, until I came to in the boat. Then I remembered the orders for the cutting out, but I couldn’t remember what had happened.”

Archie frowned and bit his lip, still struggling to piece together the events of that fateful night so long before.

“I had no idea if you'd taken the ship and got clean away, or if you'd all been captured or killed, if I was the only one left. I kept wondering if you were dead, I couldn't stop thinking on it Horatio."

The monotone started to hitch and break.

"I don't know how long they held me there, asking the same questions, over and over, but they gave up at last. They said that if I wouldn't talk for them, I would be made to talk in Paris, and then they would shoot me as a spy. So they shackled my wrists and started marching me north with a group of convicts and deserters. That first march was the worst Horatio. They gave me no allowance, I had no money for food and I was too sick to eat anyway. I was barefoot, I'd lost my boots somewhere along the line, don't even remember where, and my feet were a wreck. When I couldn't go any further I prayed they'd just shoot me by the road side but they put me in a cart and chained me there.”

“Then somewhere along the way we fell in with the crew of an English brig that had run aground off the Ile de Ré. There was a lieutenant, Galston his name was, a couple of mids and a party of seamen. They were being taken to Brest to wait for a cartel. The mids shared their food with me and one of them got me a pair of boots from God knows where. The guards were none too happy, they told them I was a criminal and was being taken to execution. Then one day the captain of the gens d'armes said that since I was nothing better than a common convict there was no need to send me to Paris, I could be shot just as well at Brest. I really thought they'd do it Horatio but I didn't want to die, not then, I wanted to get back to the Indy. So one day I saw my chance and just ran for it. We were passing through a wood, one of the guards’ horses had gone lame and when they stopped I just ran. I thought if I could get far enough into the trees the horses wouldn't be able to follow me but I tripped and fell, my hands were still shackled and I couldn't get up fast enough. They caught me easily. The captain was raging when they brought me back, he said I'd broken parole.”

"And had you? Had you given your parole?" The question was out of Horatio's mouth before he could stop himself. Even voicing it sounded like an accusation. He felt Archie stiffen at his side. He remained silent for a moment, when he spoke again his voice was clipped and brittle.

"No. I had not given my parole. They said I was a criminal, not a gentlemen, and criminals were not deemed worthy of parole. And besides I was in chains, you can not parole a man in chains Horatio."

Horatio couldn't prevent a sigh of relief escaping. To be falsely accused of spying was one thing, but there was no honourable reprieve from being branded a parole breaker.

"But...."

"But what Archie?" Horatio found he was holding his breath again.

"It transpired that Lieutenant Galston had spoken for all the British seamen, myself included. So yes, I broke parole, though I swear I did not know it. He was furious when they hauled me back. He said I’d betrayed his word of honour, that I'd betrayed my King and country, that I was a disgrace to the service and my ship. He swore that when he was exchanged he would notify the Transport Board and Captain Pellew of my conduct, have me stripped of my rank and dishonourably dismissed from the service. I told him in no uncertain terms that he had no right to give my parole while I was chained like a beast but such niceties appeared to be lost on the honourable Lieutenant Galston. He ordered his men not to fraternise with me or to share their rations, said that anyone who did would be flogged. Some of them disobeyed him though, there was no love lost between the lieutenant and his men. A couple of the seamen slipped me some scraps from time to time but it was barely enough to survive...”

“Eventually we passed through Quimper and Galston and the mids stopped there to wait their exchange. I was marched on to Brest with the men. I don't remember much about the last part of the journey, I was senseless by the time we reached Brest so they took me to the hospital. When I came to, I thought I was dreaming. There was a woman washing me and she was weeping. The hospital had been a convent before the war you know Horatio, but the nuns refused to leave, they stayed and looked after the sick. They were so kind, I never thought to find such kindness."

“I didn't stay there long though, as soon as I was well enough they sent me to the prison at Pontanezan. My God Horatio, if the hospital had been heaven that place was hell. There were almost a thousand men there, crammed into one huge room three hundred feet long but only thirty wide. We were kept in close confinement and only allowed out for an hour a day. It was the height of summer by then. Can you image how foul the air was? The men were dropping like flies and the victuals didn't help. The meat was no better than carrion and the bread was infested. I'd never seen so many men dying of scurvy and gaol fever. Day after day, more and more of them dropping. I just kept my head down and did my best to survive."

Horatio waited for Archie to continue but he remained silent.

"So what happened?" he prompted quietly. "How did you survive? How did you get from Brest to Ferrol?"

Archie closed his eyes and shook his head.

"Please Archie, please tell me..." _I need to know_ he wanted to say but he stopped himself. “There is nothing you could say that would make me think any less of you Archie. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Nothing?” Archie laughed bitterly. “When you have nothing left that’s when you learn about shame.”

Something in Archie’s tone chilled Horatio to the marrow, but he had to know. He had to hear it from Archie’s own mouth.

“There....there was an agent...." He stopped and ran his tongue nervously over his lip before continuing. “He came from Quimper where the officers were paroled. Boyle, he'd been the clerk of a 74 that was wrecked on the Penmarks. He came every few weeks to distribute the men’s allowances and take names for the cartels. I spoke to him, explained that I was a midshipman and asked him to request that I be transferred to Quimper with the other officers.”

“He said he'd heard about me from Lieutenant Galston, that he'd heard I was a parole breaker and most likely a traitor and a spy. He said Lieutenant Galston was due to be exchanged the following week and was adamant that he would inform the Transport Board of my dishonourable conduct.”

“I swore I had known nothing of the lieutenant giving my parole, I even showed him the scars on my wrist to prove that I had been held in chains for weeks.”

“He said he believed me, that Lieutenant Glaston had always been a precipitous sort and that he would speak to him before he left. He also promised to cash a bill for me and return the following week.”

“And did he return?” Horatio’s hand was still smoothing repetitively, nervously over Archie’s shoulder. Archie shook his head.

“No. It was another month before I saw him again, he said that he had been unable to cash my bill and that Galston had been transferred before he could plead my case. But he said there was a cartel due to sail within a fortnight and that he had a list of all those to be exchanged. Naturally I asked him to get my name on the list and he said he would see what he could do for me. I didn’t expect to see him again so soon but he was back two days later. He said he was sorry, that he had tried, but that all the places on the cartel were taken. I pleaded with him to get my name on the list, I promised to pay him a substantial sum of money once I was back in England. But he said that with my reputation my word was worth nothing and, unless I could pay him there and then, there was nothing he could do for me. So...” Archie’s voice had dropped to a whisper. “I paid.”

Horatio was perplexed. “But Archie, didn’t you say you had no money?”

Archie didn’t answer, he was lying perfectly still, barely breathing, staring straight up at the ceiling of the cell.

“Where did you get the money?” Horatio’s logic persisted. “Did the agent accept a bill?”

“Don’t you see Horatio? There are other ways to pay.”

Every word was carefully and precisely enunciated in that clear clipped tone that struck Horatio like ice. It took another moment for the true import of the simple statement to penetrate. He had tried to imagine the hardships that Archie had had to endure, but he had never before considered what he might have been forced sacrifice in order to survive. A wave of horror and nausea swept over him and it was only with the greatest effort that he stopped the bile rising in his throat. He seized Archie’s hand and gripped it like a lifeline. Archie startled at his touch and turned fathomless blue eyes on him, clouded with horrors Horatio realised he had never imagined, even in the depths of his most fearful nightmares.

“Go on.” It took all his strength to control his voice and force out the two words.

Archie sighed wearily and continued.

“The following week the men were shipped out of Pontanezan to the cartel. My name was not on the list. It was months before I saw Boyle again. He said he was sorry he had not been able to help but that he would still do what he could for me. He had heard that I was to be sent to Quimper at last, but for trial and execution. He said I must escape, that he knew a way, but that it would cost. I didn’t trust him, but he was my only hope so I let him take what he wanted. What else could I do?”

Whether question was directed at Horatio or Archie himself, Horatio could not tell. Archie kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, carefully avoiding his gaze.

“The next day Boyle came with two sets of clothes, a guard’s uniform and civilian dress. He said that if my nerve held I could walk out of prison at the changing for the guard. And that's what I did, I disguised myself as a guard and I walked straight out of the sally port of the prison and right through the town. Once I was clear of the town I just ran, I kept waiting to hear the signal gun, I was sure the guard would be turned out and that Boyle would give me away.”

“I made straight for the coast. I thought I could pick up a fishing boat, I knew the fishermen had to leave their boats and spend the nights on shore. The coast was swarming with customs officers and douaniers but I waited for the dark of the moon, slipped down to the beach and swam out to the nearest boat. But I didn’t have the strength to step her mast and get her underway alone to I had so swim back to shore before dawn broke. I tried further down the coast a few nights later but all boats had been pulled up beyond high water. I waited night after night for high tide to lift a boat off but the flow never reached them. I was so close Horatio. I saw a British man of war standing off shore one day. I sat hidden in the dunes and watched her until the light faded. I wondered if she was the Indy. I wondered if you were there on board, still alive.” Archie lowered his gaze from the ceiling and his fingers tightened in Horatio’s hand. “I wondered if you ever thought of me.”

“Archie,” Horatio’s voice sounded thick and hoarse to his own ears, “I don’t know if it was the Indy you saw, but you were never far from our thoughts. Not a day or night passed….”

The faintest ghost of a smile flickered across Archie’s lips. “I used to dream about you then.” He sighed and turned his gaze back to the ceiling.

“I gave up, turned my back on the coast and went east. I thought if I could cross the Rhine and then head south I might get away from Trieste. Ha!” Archie laughed grimly, “downhill to Trieste, that’s what the prisoners used to call it.”

Horatio was mentally calculating the miles, Gironde to Quimper, over 300 miles perhaps, Quimper to the Rhine, surely 600 at least, and God only knew how he had got from the Rhine to the western most tip of Spain, surely that must be over a thousand miles if it was one. The distances seemed impossible, but if Archie had proved anything it was that he had a habit of confounding the impossible.

“I made it to the river near Hagenau but I couldn't get across, all the bridges and crossings were guarded and I had no papers or money to pay my way. So I found a spot far from the town and tried to steal a boat but the night watch man caught me. He took me to the nearest village but there was no gaol or cachot, so they locked my in a barn and took away my clothes.”

“My God Archie, had these people no humanity?” Horatio was horrified by this final simple ignominy. To his surprise Archie laughed, a strange soft sound.

“No Horatio they had no cells or chains. It was the dead of winter, feet of snow on the ground, the simplest way to stop a man from running is to take his clothes.”

“And did it? Stop you I mean?”

Archie hesitated. “Yes, for a while. I was so tired of running and it wasn't so bad there. They gave me a blanket and there was plenty of fresh straw. Before long they brought my clothes back, washed and mended. Some of the people there were very kind to me Horatio. I let them think I was a conscript, a deserter. They'd all lost sons, brothers, husbands. I thought if I could win their trust the might let me go, but then the gens d'armes came.”

“I told them I was the mate of an American vessel that had foundered in the Baltic, I nearly had them believing me until the captain came. He took one look at me and said ‘Non, il est un marin anglais. Il est un mauvais sujet.’ And that was it, they chained me to some Corsican deserters they were transporting and we started marching again. I never knew where we were going after that, we just kept moving south and east. If there was no gaol or cachot we were locked in a barn or a yard, even a shambles once.” Archie wrinkled his nose as though he could still smell the blood and filth.

“And once, once we stopped at a chateaux. It had been sacked long since, the roof was half gone and even the floorboards had been carried away. But there were still the remains of old tapestries on the walls. It was freezing and there was no wood to burn so we pulled them down and wrapped ourselves in them to sleep. I never thought to spend the night wrapped in Ganymede’s arms Horatio.” Archie glanced up at Horatio and in the dim light he saw a bright spark glimmering for a moment in the clouded blue depths of his eyes. But spark was snuffed out as quickly as it had kindled.

“The man I was chained to had typhoid fever, _suette milliaire_ they call it, he could barely walk and there were no carts. Every time he stumbled and fell I went down with him and they beat us both until he got up again. He died soon enough though, the typhoid killed him one night soon after. They'd locked us in a tiny cachot in some God forsaken town south of Lyons. There were twelve of us in a cell eight feet square. There was barely room for us to breath. He died the first night but they just left him there for all the next day and night. I was still chained to him.” Archie’s voice had dropped to a hoarse whisper. “Have you ever seen a man die of typhoid Horatio? It's terrible, the fear and the stench...and they just left us there...”

“On the second day they let us out to bury him and clean away the filth. The ground was frozen so hard it took us all day to scratch a grave for him.”

“And then we moved on again. Always moving, didn't seem to matter where, one place to the next. I started running again, whenever there was a correspondence, whenever they unlocked the chains, any chance and I just ran for it. I didn't even know why I was running, there was nowhere for me to go, nothing for me to go back to.”

The words twisted like knife in Horatio's gut. For Archie to have sunk to such depths of despair, to have thought himself so lost and forgotten was beyond enduring.

“I suppose I thought if I kept running they would shoot me and put and end to it all. I just wanted it to stop Horatio, do you see? But it didn't work, even when they did take a shot at me it was just a graze.” Archie sighed grimly. “I couldn't even die and I didn't have the courage put an end to it myself. We just kept going, on and on, marching and marching, never stopping for more than a few days. Then eventually we reached Ferrol. It was a relief at first to stay in one place for a time. The others all shipped out eventually, I don't know why they left me here, I suppose they didn't know what else to do with me. It wasn’t so bad at first, there were clean bunks, enough food, I didn’t have to walk further than the yard out there. Some English sailors even came through once, but they all left.”

Archie sighed wearily, his mouth twisting into a lopsided grimace.

“You know the rest Horatio. I tried to escape. I had to. The first time they beat me, the second time they put me in the pit. And that’s it. Now you know it all. There’s nothing left to tell.”

Horatio knew it was a lie, knew he had barely scratched the surface of two long years of suffering and terror but he remained silent, unable to trust his tongue not to reveal the awful pain tearing through him. For endless nights he had lain awake in the dark of the midshipmen’s berth, staring into a hopeless abyss of blame and guilt, cursing himself for pulling Simpson from the sea, cursing himself for his naiveté, for striking that blow, for leaving Archie to drift helplessly away to death or worse. And now he knew it had been worse, worse than any fear he had dredged up from the darkest nightmares of the middle watch.

And after all that, after all that, he had brought him back. He had dragged Archie back to prison to satisfy is own arrogant pride and selfish vanity.

“Why?” he choked out the word, “why did you come back here?”

“Why?” Archie turned to look at him, his gaze unexpectedly calm and clear, and there it was again, that same bright brief spark glimmering in the clouded blue. “I don’t rightly know. I didn’t really think about it. Maybe I hoped that if … I don’t know Horatio, maybe I just hoped.”

After that there were no more words. Horatio lay down beside Archie, slid his long arm around his waist and they lay in silence until sleep came with the dawn.

* * *

 **Notes**

Almost all the incidents Archie relates, include being chained by the neck to a saddle bow, the treatment of deserters, the nuns at Brest hospital, the corrupt agent, walking out of the prison disguised as a guard, the boats on the beach, “downhill to Trieste”, the removal of prisoners clothes to stop them running, the Corsican deserters, and the tapestry bedding, are taken from the contemporary accounts of British naval prisoners of war Boys, Ellison, Hewson, Jackson, James and O’Brien.

Archie’s description of Pontanezan is taken almost word for word from evidence submitted to a Parliamentary Report on the Treatment of Prisoners of War in 1797. When the _Amazon_ frigate was wrecked off Audierne Bay following the engagement between the _Indefatigable_ , the _Amazon_ and the Droits de L’Homme, her commissioned officers were taken to Quimper and her warrant officers to Pontanezan. The warrant officers, along with the masters and passengers of various merchant vessels were held in considerably better conditions that the common seamen. They were held in a separate hall, had access to a large prison yard and were sometimes allowed to visit Brest accompanied by guards. In addition so the seamen’s rations they also received “1½ lbs good Fresh Beef, 2lbs of good White Bread and a bottle of Good Claret daily.”


End file.
